


los amores eternos, son lo más breves

by dame5



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Club Nacional de Football, Clubbing, Come play, Danubio F.C., Exploitation, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Sexual Experimentation, Training, Uruguay National Team, Voyeurism, secrecy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 11:24:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17848529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dame5/pseuds/dame5
Summary: UPDATED: 21 Feb. 2019The sound of blood pumping through Luis’ ears feels obnoxious—he almost believes that the neighboring tenants can hear the steady hammering sound and think he had to be fucking a pretty something…when he has done nothing. In fact, he can’t even find the nerve to reach out and touch Edi.





	los amores eternos, son lo más breves

**Author's Note:**

>   
> The title is straight from a quote by Mario Benedetti: "Es casi ley, los amores eternos, son lo más breves." [It's almost a law, eternal loves are the most brief.]  
> This story takes place in Montevideo, sometime in mid-February (the summer) of 2006. Luis and Edi are both 19, and though they are somewhat successful in the Uruguayan first division, they are still relatively unknown and on the brink of landing their first European contracts. They share the same agent, Daniel Fonseca, who is a corrupt charlatan. I finished reading a book "La cara oculta del baby fútbol" by Jorge Señorans which exposes corruption and exploitation of young athletes who come from poor families who want their sons to be successful footballers. Fair warning, this story has a dark twist.
> 
> Here is [another article](http://www.scielo.br/pdf/motriz/v20n4/1980-6574-motriz-20-04-00346.pdf) that examines how footballers are often exploited by those in supervisory roles.
> 
> Read the tags and fill in the blanks.

For a Thursday night, the  _boliche_ is quite busy.

Everyone is shouting to be heard over the music, and it only makes it louder—resulting in even more shouting. Luisito is crammed into a corner waiting for Edi to come back from the bar. He’s thumbing over the glow-in-the-dark stamp the bouncer at the door inked on the back his hand. He’s gazing out somewhere to his left, mesmerized by the cascading scatter of the overhead lights, and flinches when Edi knocks the back of his hand against his forearm and leans close to speak into his ear,

 

“To your right…by the bar, wearing the white top.” Edi transfers a beer into Luisito’s hand, “What do you think of her?”

Luisito takes a swig from his beer and turns to steal a glance. He gives Edi a flattened expression.

“¿La rubia de pelo largo?” he wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, “No thanks—I’ll pass.”

Edi leans close. “Luisito…it’s not like you’re going to a  _telo [1]_ later to beat it up. It’s just to talk and dance—”

Luis interjects, “If it’s just to talk and dance as you say, then why does it matter if she’s good-looking?”

Edi pulls his lips in and his nostrils flare out.

“Don’t tell me you’re just going to stand here like a  _boludo_ and just drink.”

 

It was a conversation that they kept coming back to since Sofia moved to Barcelona. It was a miracle. Even Luisito can’t bring himself to believe it that after nearly two years, they kept in touch over the phone—promising that they’d wait for each other.

Luis sometimes hated to admit it, but in the areas of his life where he was a romantic, Edi was a realist. And vice versa. Sometimes, their differences worked in their favor. They’d bring each other back to the center in the places they were a bit off keel.

But some things were resistant to change.

The truth was Edi had been through enough to adopt the belief that relationships can be fickle and that nothing lasts forever. He would never say it directly, but he’d remind Luisito that the possibility of Sofi finding someone who was closer to her status and demeanor was real. Especially in Barcelona with him out of sight and mind. She could leave him for good. Without an afterthought.

If love is truly a game with winners and losers, Edi didn’t want to be the loser.

Luisito takes a sip of his beer.

“I haven’t seen you make a move, so I guess that makes the both of us idiots.” Luis strikes his beer bottle against Edi’s.

Edi tips his bottle up and takes a generous gulp. He swipes his tongue over his lips, and says nothing for a few beats. The cumbia rhythms make the floor vibrate, making him sway side to side to the beat. He opens his mouth to speak and Luis leans in to listen.

“Cuanto te juego, Luisito…that you’re afraid to talk to her?”

Luis’ eyes widen and he reflexively strikes his shoulder against Edi’s, bouncing his rage against him.

“First of all—I’m not afraid of anyone or anything. I’m just not interested.” He scoffs. “If you’re the cat’s meow, why don’t  _you_ go up and talk to her?”

 

 _Devuelveme la vida_ comes on—the new  _Ráfaga_ song that had all of Montevideo going wild. Edi breaks into an intimate cumbia shuffle and smiles his devilish smile. Luisito’s eyes lock firmly with Edi’s.

 

“Hold this for me—” Edi transfers his beer to Luisito, “Yo no vengo al boliche para chupar nomas.”

 

Luisito wants to protest. He didn’t come to be another low life plastered against the wall pretending to have a good time like half of the losers there tonight. He doesn’t know why he feels a pang of anger course through him while looking on to see Edi work his way into the crowd.

Him taking a risk? This he had to see.

Edi has just turned 19, and still had not shed the appearance of boyish innocence—though he didn’t have a shard of it left in him as Luisito very well knew by now. Edi was quite active, while he remained a virgin; another of their many differences.

Edi had the height, shoulder-length hair, deep dark eyes with plenty of soul and a clean jawline—he had the bearings of someone who would become more handsome with age. Anyone who looked past his shyness and crowded teeth could see that Edi had a unique, captivating beauty to him.

The local  _chetas_ ate up his antics. This girl that Edi had laid eyes on? The  _cheta_ queen who was as cheta can be?

 

Luisito glowered at the mina with long bleached-blonde hair. When she raised her glass to her lips, he notices her fresh manicure. She looked so processed, Luisito guessed she probably reeked of salon products. She wasn’t even that good looking and yet she was acting like she was way out of his league. If one thing caught Edi’s attention, perhaps it was her tight jeans accentuating her every curve. Advertising her willingness to be consumed to the highest bidder.

 

Luis didn’t waste time with that kind of pretension. 

 

 _No pierdas tiempo en esa boluda_. Luis tosses his eyes to the back of his head. She’s the type of girl that drew pleasure watching men salivate over her but not budge an inch. How could Edi waste his time on someone who thrives on busting balls and bruising egos?

Edi playfully knocks into her and stretches his hand out to her—inviting her to dance.

“Hijo de su madre…” Luis mutters under his breath seeing how quickly Edi convinced the blonde cheta to walk into his arms to share a dance.

He brings the beer to his lips, not caring that he was drinking out of Edi’s bottle.

Luis can’t tell if it’s the heat from all the bodies dancing, or the alcohol or the general feeling of discontent that’s making his skin buzz. He won't admit it, but his face tingles with rage like this when he’s jealous.

Having enough, he finally looks away and slumps against the wall.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As Luis and Edi head out, it’s Luisito that has to rub in the salt to Edi’s wound.

“She’s too cheta for you. Even I could see that.” Luis sweeps the gravel aside with his feet.

“I don’t understand,” Edi briefly scratches the side of his face, “I complemented her. I told her she smelled nice, and I wanted to know what perfume she used.”

“Well there you go. You just exposed yourself.”

Edi spins quickly to look at Luis.

“What do you mean I exposed myself?”

Luisito shrugs, dismissing the whole conversation as pointless. At the epicenter of cheto culture was the value on money and possessions. The chetas kept broke, uncultured boys at bay, advertising how unaffordable they were by wearing their money through the latest hairstyles, makeup, designer clothes and jewelry. Not knowing the brand of a high-end perfume was a dead giveaway that Edi was not nose-deep in high fashion and didn’t have the means to burn that kind of money on it.

“Are we crashing at your place tonight?” Edi asks.

Luisito shrugs again. “Yeah, sure; _supongo que si_ —though your place is nicer.” He steals a glance at his analogue watch. It’s nearly 4 hours, “I don’t know how you can afford living in that part of town and have enough to make it through the end of the month.”

“I don’t,” Edi responds. “Daniel, my agent, pays the rent.”

“Fonseca?” Luis’ eyebrows shoot up as Edi nods, “No kidding. _Tristemente_ , that motherfucker is my agent too.”

A beat of silence goes by them as they turn on  _Calle Timbo_.

“Well, he sure treats you like a _nene bian [2]_.” Luis grins.

“Look. At the time…it was a good opportunity. I could never afford to live in the capital while focusing on _fútbol cien por cien_. Mamá didn’t like it, but if I wanted to get noticed—”

“I get it, _I get it_ —just playing with you.”

“Luisito…I’m really thinking about getting a new agent. Danubio got offers. _For me_. And Daniel let two of them go by saying that he has something better—”

“Here, this building, fool,” Luisito cuts him off gesturing with his head to point out that they had arrived to his place “Look, he’s going to jump on the offer that is best for him.” He yanks the screen door open and Edi holds it while Luis unlocks the main entrance. "I just want to close a deal and get out of this dump. The sonofabitch better do it soon, porque te juro, Edi..." He pauses while he turns to look at Edi as he holds the door open for him, "...te juro que lo voy a mandar a pasear." They walk to the second floor, where Luis opens the door to his flat. He smacks the light switch on.

The place is the size of a shoebox. A poor excuse of a kitchenet, a wooden table with seating for two and then the bed next to the window and a closet. Edi sits at the edge of the bed to check his phone and he quickly composes a text. Luisito follows suit and plops next to him and kicks off his shoes.

“You should take care of your stuff if you want it to last you a long time.” Edi sighs as he reclines.

“And you should stop talking to ugly girls who think they’re better than you because they’re wearing expensive perfume.” Luis lets his hand fall on Edi’s thigh and squeezes.

“She wasn’t ugly,” Edi comments. “She actually kind of looks like your Sofi—”

“My Sofi is nothing compared to her.” Luis reaches for his phone and begins to look through his album.

Edi sits back up and scoots closer to Luisito, resting a hand over his shoulder as he looks on.

“Here. _Míra_.” Luis smiles. “No vas a comparar…” His voice trails off and his eyes scan the pixelated image of his Sofi; one of the last pictures he took of her.

Luis turns to look at Edi, through his tired, half-closed eyes.

He doesn’t know if it’s the buzz from the beers he’s had, or just the wear from the day kicking in that lowers his defenses. There’s something about the way Edi looks at him reaches into his loins, making him tense up. A couple of seconds fly by, and all he can do is stare. Luisito can’t even speak. He swore God had punished him and struck him dumb that very instant for years of sinning and having a filthy mouth. Luis looks away from Edi’s dark eyes and focuses on the rose tint of his lips. He shifts his body, leaning towards Edi and then stops himself when he realizes that Edi was also leaning toward him.

Bewildered by what just happened, Luis looks back up at Edi.

All of his features appeared to soften. Nothing about Edi’s posture or face gave the impression that he was wound up, clenching or guarded. On the contrary. He seemed relaxed. Edi seemed open to him in a way that he hadn’t seen before.

Luis leans forward, wanting to say something but being unable to, and sees that Edi moves towards him, as if his mouth wanted to meet his.

It’s a realization that rips him open the way lightning tears through the darkened sky in a violence that’s echoed through thunder.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Luis grabs Edi’s shirt and strikes his jaw before he pushes him away.

Edi falls back on the bed and reflexively grabs his face. “Nothing.” Is all he can manage to get past his rows of teeth, clenched together as his entire face scrunches into a grimace.

“¿Sos puto—o que?”

At this point, Luisito won’t admit his reaction broadcasts his shame instead of hiding it. He didn’t want to admit they had almost kissed. And that maybe he wanted it.

He had Sofi waiting for him in Barcelona. How does he now make sense of this? Where does he file this episode in the inventory of everything that he thought he knew about himself?

The room feels uncomfortably warm, and Luis rises to open his window. He wants to apologize but he can’t even bring himself to look at Edi.

The bed springs creak and echo in the room as Edi sits up, shifting his weight forward to stand.

“Edi—wait.” Luis mumbles. He turns and quickly swats his hand over the fabric of Edi’s jacket, giving it a sharp tug, “I…you—you were drunk, right?

“I— _I_ was drunk?” Edi gives Luisito a dark look and licks the corner of his lips; a combination of gestures that usually puts Luis on the edge.

“Okay, _we_ were drunk.” Luis speaks in a low voice.

The sound of blood pumping through Luis’ ears feels obnoxious—he almost _believes_ that the neighboring tenants can hear the steady hammering sound and think he had to be fucking a pretty something…when he has done nothing. In fact, he can’t even find the nerve to reach out and touch Edi.

Luis observes Edi run a hand through his hair, combing it back and then releasing it to let it fall over his shoulders.

“No…no, I’m not drunk. We’re not drunk.” He delivers it with a low voice, and eyes down cast.

Luis releases Edi’s jacket and runs his hand up to his shoulder. He tilts Edi’s chin with his other hand and delivers a quick kiss over his mouth; presses his lips hard enough against Edi’s to let him know it wasn’t an accident.

Luis pulls away to look at his reaction. Edi looks back at him, eyelids heavy and mouth agape. Luis follows Edi’s eye movements as they break eye contact and dart to his mouth.

“Should I go now?” Edi whispers, licking his lips.

Luis leans forward, pressing his mouth against Edi’s, tongue lunging into his mouth.

It’s so unannounced, he’s surprised Edi consents, opening wider for him, tongue darting rhythmically against his. A non-verbal consent of giving up his mouth and perhaps more to Luis for him to ruin if he wanted to. Luis bites down hard on Edi’s lip, and pulls back to see a thread of spit clinging against the swell of his crushed berry red lips.

It’s all so beautiful, and ugly. Like right now.

“N—no…” Luis stammers, his breath shaking. “Stay here.”

 

He won’t say it out loud, but he decides he likes this. Whatever this is.

**Author's Note:**

> 1- a "telo" is slang for hotel de alta rotatividad. It's basically a hotel where one can rent a room for a couple of hours to have sex. In Uruguay, it's considered poor manners to bring a one night stand into one's home where one is living with family or roommates.
> 
> 2 - a "nene bian" is a tern reserved for people who are privileged and well-to-do.


End file.
